


Quarantined

by Gangstertogangster



Category: Luke Cage (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Living Together, trapped together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gangstertogangster/pseuds/Gangstertogangster
Summary: So I decided to write this inspired by the current real-world global pandemic involving quarantines.I decided to have the pandemic here be ambiguous because it feels like in MCU's NYC there's a pandemic every other day. I also don’t want to be making light of the coronavirus or anyone afflicted with it. Though I’ve made weird pandemic quarantine fan fiction.Inspired by a discussion of this via Discord with friends, featuring lines of dialogue taken from NYS30
Relationships: Shades Alvarez/Mariah Dillard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Quarantined

After personally working to ensure Harlem would have protection against the recent pandemic that caused the whole of New York to remain on lockdown, leaving the most vulnerable communities in dire condition, Mariah Dillard was eager to get in self quarantine as soon as possible. 

Mariah channeled the best parts of her grandmother and got trucks of Purell and Lysol wipes and Clorox to be distributed all over Harlem. She distributed pamphlets, got Alex to film her making a PSA on how to wash hands properly, to maintain a distance of six feet, to greet with a simple “namaste” or a touching of elbows. 

But here she was now, in her new brownstone, alone. She had more than enough supplies, Alex made sure of it. She sent him home, after he assured her multiple times he’d be there to get her whatever she needed. She was used to living on her own, in fact, she preferred it that way. 

But there was something she needed that compelled her to ask her boy-toy, Hernan, to stay with her. Whether it was just the fact that she was horny and didn’t want to go so many weeks without him in her bed, or whether she thought she needed some assuring after all, she didn’t know. His arms felt so safe and warm, she loved snuggling into his chest, it was something she grew accustomed to. 

She couldn’t really imagine the quarantine without it, or, really, him. Which is why she ultimately decided to suggest he pack a bag or two and stay over at her place. Ever since the seriousness of the virus spreading was in any reasonable person’s mind, Mariah was having him disinfect at her door, and shower before they had sex if he just came over. That was just a waste of shower water, and he was barely tolerating this new ritual. So it was settled. Hernan would stay over. Just as he left, Mariah instantly felt regret creep over her. 

As soon as he got back, they’d hunker down. 

Mariah got them both in-home tests, just to be extra careful, and luckily neither were positive. Also because if Hernan so much as coughed, she was kicking him right back out. 

* * *

Day 1

“Hernan, why are you unpacking in the guest room?” 

Hernan stopped removing his folded clothes from the duffel bag. Mariah folded her arms, watching him with an irritated curiosity. 

“You mean it?” He asked her. “I know you like space.” 

Mariah shook her head, smiled. She said, “If you ain’t sick, you can stay in my bed. You do anyway.” 

Hernan felt his heart beat fast. He desperately tried to hide any sign of joy that might have been apparent on his face. 

Mariah simply laughed, walked over to him. 

She said, “Don’t get too excited, I’m only saying this because I don’t want two sets of bedding to deal with.” She stood on her tip-toes just a little to give him a gentle kiss on the lips. 

* * *

Day 2 

Hernan made them breakfast. Eggs, toast, turkey bacon, grits, fresh squeezed orange juice, coffee. Mariah’s eyes lit up when she saw the spread. That was, she supposed, another reason to have kept him over. 

They sat down to eat, Mariah smiling at him. He smiled back. 

They spent the rest of the day reading, making food, having coffee in both senses of the term. Mariah was still arranging for her housing complexes to have disinfectant supplies for mothers and children, and for canned goods to be delivered on a daily basis to Harlem residents. Luke Cage could suck it. 

The only time there was tension was when Hernan went over to her liquor cabinet without permission. She snapped at him, “Ask first! Your ass will not deprive me of drinking!”

Hernan sighed, replied testily, “Alright. You know I don’t even drink much to begin with.” 

“You better not,” Mariah shot back, turning back to her New York Times crossword puzzle. 

* * *

Day 3 

They read, Hernan did some video exercises. Called Comanche. That pissed Mariah all the way off. 

They spent much of the day in stony silence. He still made the meals, fixed her drink. She got fed up when he added ice to her scotch. 

That led to her snapping, “Hernan, you need to get to the guest room before I put my foot up your ass!” 

He laughed coldly at that and said, “Already done. I ain’t protesting.” 

He made them their meals again. Omelets for breakfast, salads for lunch, just like she liked, and a steak for dinner. 

“Can I open some wine?” He asked with a bit of an attitude. 

Mariah shrugged, gave him a sarcastic smile, replying, “I won’t stop you. Make me a martini while you’re up.” 

They went to separate rooms that night. Mariah missed the extra space in the queen sized bed. 

Hernan slept soundly. Mariah tossed and turned. She decided she wanted to start shit. She got up, went to the guest room, jostled him awake. She scolded him for leaving water running. He hadn’t, she wanted a reason to go over. 

So he protested, she insisted, she shoved him, he leapt up. He said he was going to sleep on the couch. She told him to stay here. She said, “I like you where you are,” looking him right in the eyes. 

They eyed each other with hatred, which turned to lust, which turned to the guest bed broken-in in more ways than one. When they finished, she said, “You’re still staying in the guest room.”

Hernan said “Fine by me,” and went back to sleep. She stayed too. 

* * *

Day 7

By this point Mariah and Hernan had not spoken to each other for 4 days. He was still cooking for them. He even got into baking, which Mariah thought was just a waste of flour, even though he was really good at baking. 

Mariah had still been trying to put on makeup and shower, because it was a distraction. But her hair felt gross, just from being cooped up inside. She felt dirty and lazy and angry. Liable to snap. 

Often she took it out on Hernan, who was also feeling restless, though he had been to several prisons and this was a fairly nice place to be jailed, all things considered. 

She yelled at him for trying to make her fat. He snapped at her to leave. 

She said, “It’s my house, YOU leave.” 

Hernan shot back, “I will then!” 

Mariah said, “You ain’t getting back in once you leave!” 

“I don’t want to get back!” Hernan exclaimed, impatient. 

Mariah took a deep breath, said, “Don’t leave.”

Hernan stood by the door. Then he sighed and went over to her. 

“I look real ugly, right?” She asked him once he got close. 

‘Never,” He breathed. She scoffed as he kissed her. 

* * *

Day 8 

In the morning, Mariah woke up next to Hernan. She was disgusted at the sight of his naked body in her bed. Even more disgusted when she saw her reflection in the vanity mirror to find she hadn’t scrubbed her makeup off or bothered to put her hair up. 

She glared at him as he snored. She contemplated smothering his face with one of the pillows. She got into the shower, made it nice and hot. He wasn’t getting into this bathroom. 

She emerged in her bathrobe. He was awake, leaning back against a pillow. He looked too good and his body was all illuminated by the sunlight pouring in through the windows. 

He smiled at her. She groaned, sighed, cursed under her breath. And who knew when they were gonna make up like this again after a fight. She removed the bathrobe and jumped back on him. Quarantine make-up sex hit different. 

As he held her in his arms, she said, “You need to get your ass back to the guest room from now on.” 

* * *

Day 12

They hadn’t spoken in two days and ended up eating too many of the baked goods he made. They were too bored and frustrated to even try to be intimate. 

He stopped wearing more fitted jeans and sweaters and button-up shirts and opted for looser jeans and his stupid gray hoodie. 

Over the next two days Mariah would demand more favors from him, which eventually took its toll on Hernan. He would get pissed and eventually began drinking more from the liquor cabinet. Mariah didn’t even want to yell at him, because she didn’t want to waste any breath. 

However, when she went to check up on the liquor again, she was infuriated beyond reason. But she had good reason. 

“You piece of shit! You finished the goddamn henny!” Mariah exclaimed. She stormed over to Hernan, who had been scrubbing dishes and tupperware. 

“And now I’m finishing the dishes, so I think we’re good,” Hernan shot back. “Besides,” he continued, “What does it matter, it’s not even noon yet.” 

“If you even think about downing the rest of the vodka I will stab you in the neck, Hernan!” 

Hernan groaned and continued to vigorously scrub the stubborn remnants of food from plates. 

“What’s dinner?” Mariah asked later in the day. 

“Leftovers,” Hernan said blankly, while he read another book from her bookshelf. 

“That was yesterday! You finish my Henny, no less during a damn quarantine, you make me a meal of my choice.” 

“We ain’t got much left and you know it.” 

Mariah muttered cusses under her breath. She got impatient and grabbed a wine glass. She threw it down. It shattered all over the floor. 

“I ain’t gonna clean that,” Hernan said, not taking his eyes off his book. Mariah stepped through the glass in her slippers and grabbed the book out of his hands. She threw the hardcover book across the room. 

Hernan got up and loomed over her. He yelled, “Stop this shit! Now!” 

Mariah stormed back through the shattered glass, but loudly yelled “OW! SHIT!” 

Hernan kept glaring at her, not sure if she was pretending. 

His anger faded when he saw her fall to the floor. He ran upstairs and got her first-aid kit. Got back down, looked at the leg she held. She clutched her foot, the slipper on which had a shard of glass through it. 

He yanked the glass out, and Mariah yelped, cursed. They sat there on the dining room floor, her bloody foot in his lap. He put some Neosporin over it, bandaged it. He had experience cleaning up broken glass and the injuries that came from it. 

He picked her up bridal style and carried her around the table, resting her down on the couch. Mariah winced as she tried to relax her body. 

Hernan scolded her, “Why did you do that shit?” 

“I want to go outside! Leave this godforsaken place! I can’t take anymore of this bullshit! All because some dumbasses wouldn’t wash their damn hands or quit turnin’ up!” 

“We’re still having leftovers for dinner,” Hernan said. Mariah gave him the finger. 

He rolled his eyes as he swept up the broken glass. 

He heated up their portions of chicken and rice and beans, made a simple salad to go with. Mariah tried to get up, but he brought her plate over to her. He sat next to her in one of the living room chairs. 

She winced again in pain as she adjusted her position to eat the food. He tried to look at her coldly but he still wanted her to be safe. So they sat and ate, waiting for the other to speak up. 

“I’m sorry,” Mariah said at last. 

Hernan nodded, said only, “OK.” 

They resumed silence as he took her plate and his to the sink. 

He returned, paused by the liquor cabinet. “Blue Hawiian?” He offered.

“Make it strong,” was her response. 

He grinned, nodded, made two extra strong ones. 

She refused to let him carry her to bed at first, but she was still hurt, so he did that anyway. She held onto him like he was Luke Cage, though not nearly as built. 

She pointed that out to him as he took her upstairs. He scoffed. 

He got her into the bedroom and said, “Night, baby.” 

“Sleep here,” Mariah sighed. Hernan looked at her with a mixture of doubt, sadness, and appreciation. He went over to the side of the bed he usually claimed, watched as she stubbornly got into her nightgown and got her face ready and her hair up. 

“Quit peepin’,” Mariah said to him. 

Hernan laughed, pulled their covers back. 

“No, you’re not getting in bed wearing those clothes.” 

He laughed and took off the hoodie, undershirt, jeans, belt, socks. He stood before her in his boxer briefs, as she lay in her side watching him intently. Then he slid into the covers. They quickly fell into deep sleep, that much closer to day 14. 


End file.
